


I'd Like to Keep My Cheeks Dry Today

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-24
Updated: 2008-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felipe's thoughts after his worst ever start to a Formula One season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Like to Keep My Cheeks Dry Today

**Author's Note:**

> Purging some of my anguish through a quick, barely edited ficlet.

It does rain in Sepang, eventually. Not until hours after the race, hours after the distant smell of champagne from Kimi, hours after the team de-briefing, and almost exactly two hours after his second, personal de-briefing.

He had felt like a child. He'd struggled to keep eye contact with Stefano, quietly wanting to slink out of the motorhome, crawl into his car and get the hell away from everyone. It wasn't as though he'd been shouted into the ground or made to feel humiliated - in fact, aside from the 'yes, you fucked up' portion of the de-brief, the words had been encouraging ones, positive even. But the tone hadn't been, which spoke volumes.

The rain comes down in sheets, warm and drenching, and Felipe sits out in it on the balcony of his hotel room, about the only place he feels alone. The sliding doors behind him are locked so he can shut himself away like this, away from anyone in his team, from any rogue member of the press, from Raffaela even, though the grief he might get for that later would be minimal compared to the storm currently going on in his head. There's a lead weight in his chest, the air is stifling and the rain runs down his face, dripping from his nose, chin, eyelashes, hair, and he hopes tiredly that he'll get sick from it if he sits out there long enough.

He sniffs, wipes his face needlessly, brushes dark waves of sodden hair out of his eyes. The rain continues to sweep down, drops battering off the leaves of the surrounding palm trees and roaring like white noise. He wipes his face again, telling himself that it's just the rain.

He shuts his eyes and lets his head drop backwards to thud against the back of his chair.

He wonders if he'll even be here next year.


End file.
